


say you’ll remember me

by aquilast



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mafia Definitive Edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilast/pseuds/aquilast
Summary: It was all your fault — you fell way too hard when you shouldn’t have.
Relationships: Sam Trapani/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	say you’ll remember me

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE:
> 
> the train i was visualising here is the Orient Express kind of train, you know, with the sleeper cabins and all but im not sure if those kinds of trains exist in Lost Heaven but lets just go with it. :)

**1926 - May**

As soon as the rays of sunlight broke through the slim gap between your curtains and casted a line of bright light from the window to the bed, your eyes fluttered open. A sigh escaped your lips and you slowly turned your head to the side, finding the spot next to you empty. The hotel room was clean and your lingerie and robe that were tossed mindlessly on the floor yesterday night were hanging on the armrest of a chair. It was a habit of this particular client of yours. The others wouldn't care to do so. A smile graced your lips and you stared longingly at the empty side of the bed.

It has been exactly a year and four months since you started working for the Corleone Hotel miles away from home. Your parents had passed in an accident, and you made the difficult decision to abandon your studies and to find work in order to support your siblings. Work came in the form of becoming a prostitute for the hotel and you accepted after much hesitation. The money was impressive and you would be a fool to turn it down. Most of what you earned were sent back to your remaining family and you hardly ever had the opportunity to return home for a quick visit. 

You provided the same services as the other girls and your clients have always left satisfied. The rules of the place - official or not - were tattooed inside your head and you didn't dare find out what would happen to you if you were to ever break them. Regardless, you were content. The money was good and the tips were even better. What's more, you had a roof over your head. So long as you played by the rules and remember who's in charge, you're safe and protected here. 

The clients you receive differ in appearances and jobs, but they all want the same thing. Except for one particular person - the same person who you entertained last night and the one who has the habit of picking up your garments off the floor the next day before he left and laying them on the nearest surface. Nights with him were different on account of him wanting more conversation than sex. More often than not, you find yourself curled in his arms, head laying on his bare chest, listening to the soft, gentle symphony of his heartbeat after a round or two. His strong arm would be wrapped around your shoulders as his rough, calloused hand stroked your arm. It was then he would talk - about anything on his mind. Usually it was about work and the general things he had to do, but it was never about himself. No, he never spoke about himself.

You knew who he was immediately when you saw him for the first time two days after you joined the hotel. Before you came, Michelle was the girl he'd usually choose, but for some reason, he ended up paying for you. And he kept paying for you and your services every single time he came. It didn't take you long to figure out who exactly he was - in fact, it took you only a minute to realise the kind of person he is and the kind of work he's involved in. You could tell by the way he sauntered into the building, the way the waiters, girls and other staff looked at him with respect and admiration and the way his stoic expression never seemed to break. You learned his name as he took you up the stairs and to the hotel room: Sam Trapani. 

He's a made man, loyal only to the Salieri crime family. 

You never asked why he decided to choose you. Michelle never gave you any heat for it. In fact, she congratulated you for attracting his attention and for getting yourself a very valuable and important client two days in. On your first night with him, when he whisked you away to a grand suite on the upper floors, you were completely intent to please him. You saw the way the hotel manager greeted his arrival with profusions of pleasantries and you didn't want to mess up, especially since you were new. But as the first round ended and you were laying with your back to the bed and him on top of you, he suddenly brought a hand to your face and caressed your cheek. In that moment, something stirred inside you. Perhaps it was because of your rough upbringing but it has been a long, long time since somebody touched you with warmth and care. You felt special, like you mattered.

When he pulled away from you, you thought he was going to leave and you grabbed his arm with desperation, thinking he was unsatisfied with you. But when he turned back to look into your eyes, you thought you saw something in his own steel grey ones that looked akin to loneliness. A minute passed and he left, despite you asking him to stay. The next day you prepared yourself for the worst but you found your hotel manager thoroughly pleased with you. He was all smiles, telling you how "Mr. Trapani was really happy with you." The hotel manager gifted you a really beautiful and stunning emerald green negligee that day. The day after that, Sam Trapani came back and he came for you.

The second night with him was the night you had your first, proper conversation with him and that sparked into many, many more whenever he came by. You liked his voice, thick with an accent, and you didn't mind listening him go on and on about his work. He didn't dwell too much on the specifics, deliberately leaving certain parts out, but you could guess what it is that he does. You especially liked when he asked about you and the way you had his attention when you spoke. He listened with great interest, supplementing his own opinion or two and his eyes never left yours the whole time. It was the first time someone actually cared about your words and it was definitely the first time you had someone's undivided attention like that. Perhaps you were misreading him but you thought he _cared_.

It led to you looking forward to his arrival. Each day, you anticipated him and waited for him to walk through the doors and head straight for you. 

You never quite understood his intentions. He wanted sex - that's what he paid for, after all - but he wanted something more than that, not just the usual conversations. But you didn't ask. You were fine and perfectly happy with the circumstance so long as you and him were lying on the same bed with your head on his chest and both your legs tangled under the covers. 

The nights come and go and when dawn broke, Sam was already gone. 

Somewhere deep within your heart, you wished you'd wake up one day and feel his arm still wrapped around your waist, your back to his chest and when you turn your head, you'd see his sleeping face, unguarded and at ease. But you knew it would never happen. It was, after all, unwise for a made man to be so exposed and unguarded. 

*

The girls liked to talk, and talk they did.

Sometimes you'd hear your name pop up in their conversations, spoken in tones of awe and envy. And with your name usually came along Sam's and they would soon whisper about him. You tried not to listen to their conversations but you felt a bit of pride when they called you his "favourite girl." It could be seen that way. After all, he only ever came to the hotel to wrap up business proceedings and to see you. When he wasn't around, you'd entertain other customers but they never gave you the fulfilment and satisfaction Sam did. He held you differently, spoke to you differently and treated you differently than all the other men did. The other men saw you for what you were working as: a whore but Sam spoke to you like anyone would to a proper woman and that made you feel like you meant something. 

A part of you wondered if he was simply being courteous with you or he actually, genuinely cared.

You tried not to get too attached to him, you really did, but it was so damn difficult especially when his gaze bores into yours and he looks at you as though you are the only thing that matters in that very moment. He paid for sex and a conversation - not for an eventual relationship and you drilled that into your head. Besides, you would only get in the way of his job, which you understood just how dedicated he was to it. He was loyal to his Don, extraordinarily so, and would most definitely choose the family over you in a heartbeat. No matter what, you knew you were just another whore and you had to swallow that bitter pill.

Still, you kind of hoped that there was something between you two. It was meaningless but it was something to smile about when he wasn't around.

Of course, you weren't the first girl to swoon over him. He's a devilishly handsome and fine man and there was something extremely attractive about those eyes of his - sharp, cold and piercing. He carried himself with confidence and he spoke with decisiveness. The suits he wore complimented his stature and you especially loved the ties he wore in paisley patterns. Every girl loves a bad boy, and you were no exception. You were enamoured the moment you locked eyes with him two years ago. 

For some reason, Sam never got tired of you. When silence crept, both of you simply laid there on the bed in each other's arms and soon enough, you'd hear the soft snores escape Sam's lips. Your hand would trace his abdomen and the scars that ran across it, imagining situations in which he would have acquired them. The physical wounds on his body were clear to you, but you wished there was more of him you could see and understand. And when your mind began to race with impossible scenarios with you and him, you'd remind yourself begrudgingly that you were just another whore.

He just happens to like your company. That's all.

*

He liked to call you "Doll." Your heart simply fluttered each time the word gently rolled off his tongue. When he said it the first time, he laughed at your surprised and pleased expression and hasn't stopped calling you that since. Day by day, you grew more attracted to him and it was starting to get dangerous. The rational part of your mind warned you to pull away before it’s too late but every time he dipped his head and his lips met yours, the thought was silenced and you caved.

The cologne he wore, the expensive tailored suits and even the shape of his hands and the lines on his palms - all were familiar and welcoming things to you. It was engraved in your body the way his hands would grip your waist, his lips on your neck and his head buried in the crook of your shoulder. You've heard the stories from the girls and even a few from him - how ruthless he was when it came to his job, how he never hesitates before pulling the trigger, how efficient he was at putting someone in the ground. It amazes you, even until now, that despite all you've heard and all he has done, he was still gentle and careful with you. 

There was only one instance where he was rough with you, and it was during the Corleone Hotel's fifth anniversary celebration party three months back in February. Plenty of big shots were invited, including members of the Salieri crime family. The girls were expected to dress nicely for the event and you remembered how excited everybody was at the prospect of dolling up. Michelle was the one who helped you into your dress and styled your hair and when you looked at yourself in the mirror after she was done, you don't believe you've ever felt so beautiful in your entire life. The dress you wore was simple - light grey with sequins - but it hugged your waist and complimented your figure beautifully. The pearls around your neck and the white feather headband around your head completed the look and you simply gushed at your appearance in the mirror.

By the time you and Michelle descended down the stairs, the celebration was already underway. You recognised business owners, actors, playwrights and even politicians among the guests. The atmosphere was positively electric and you mingled in the crowd, chatting up with some of the men, throwing your head back to laugh at their jokes. As you sat at the end of the bar, laughing with an up-and-coming actor (you can't seem to remember his name), you felt a presence behind you that made the poor boy cut his sentence short. Turning around, you found Sam standing behind you, cigarette between his lips and his eyes darkening. In your peripheral vision, you notice the actor had slipped away from his seat and disappeared in the crowd. Just as you were about to greet Sam, his hand found your wrist and he swiftly dragged you away, whisking you down the halls and into an empty elevator. Without looking at the elevator panel, he jammed his finger hard into a button and slowly, the elevator rose.

"Sam?" you called meekly, searching his eyes for - _something_. 

He blinked, your voice dragging him out of his thoughts. You watched cautiously as he rubbed the side of his forehead, brows furrowing.

"Sorry, doll. Did I hurt you?"

You replied in the negative and it seemed to reassure him. His grip was strong but it didn't hurt you at all surprisingly. You can't recall a time previously when he grabbed you like that.

His eyes were on you again and you smiled under his sultry gaze. Taking a step closer to you, he closed the gap between you two, hands trailing to your waist.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, voice husky. "Couldn't keep my eyes off you the whole time."

As he dipped his head and his lips came closer to yours, the elevator came to a halt and inwardly, you cursed. But when the elevator doors pulled back, it revealed the top floor of the hotel and at the end of the hall was a floor-to-ceiling window with the most stunning view of Lost Heaven. Gasping in excitement, you rushed towards the view, passing through the French windows and onto the balcony. The glimmering skyline of Lost Heaven opened its arms to you and were in awe of its beauty. You had never been on the top floor of the hotel before and as you stood there, taking in the breathtaking sight, for the first time, you felt _free_. 

The sun was almost gone, and your eyes softened at its warm glow of oranges and yellows in the sky as it disappeared over the horizon. The city, flooded with crime, corruption and deceit, had never looked so beautiful and pure to you in your entire life. And as you took in the window, utterly captivated, two strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist and you feel Sam's chin resting on your shoulder. That moment, right there and then, was the one thing you'd never want to let go of.

* * *

**1927**

June 1927 was when Sam was made caporegime.

The news of his new title reached your ears through whispers. One of the waiters happened to pass by the table where the hotel manager, Don Salieri himself and his personal driver, Carlo sat at the time the Don made a brief mention about it. The mill began to spin and eventually, you knew about it too. Sam wasn't present at the time the Don and Carlo were - he was probably outside, getting comfortable in his new position and asserting himself. To your mind, you thought the title suited him and you couldn't wait to congratulate him.

In anticipation of his arrival, you decided to save a bottle of his favourite whiskey and stash it in the closet of the usual hotel room you and him used. Then, you waited ever so patiently, sitting by the bar and watching the entrance, looking out for the moment it would swing open and Sam would walk right in. But the days passed and soon, a week came and went, and yet, no sign of the man you adore.

You convinced yourself he was busy. He's a capo after all - he has men to order around, jobs to execute and businesses to conclude. So you kept yourself busy too with your own work. But even as you lay on the bed with another man on top of you, your mind constantly wandered to Sam. Your body was on autopilot, accustomed to the nature of your work and the clients whom you entertained did not suspect the least bit that you were not focusing on them at all. 

Weeks became months and the whiskey remained lodged in the back of the closet, forgotten.

It was in the middle of September when Sam finally made his appearance in the hotel. You were in the midst of putting on your dress again after your previous client left when Michelle entered the room, informing you that Sam was here. You hesitated, wondering what took him so long but the thought of seeing him again overwhelmed you and you rushed out, thanking Michelle. As you turned the corner, you spotted him walking down the hall with another man whom you faintly recognised to be Paulie Lombardo. The latter was rarely at the Corleone Hotel but you have noticed him around when he makes the occasional visit. 

You paused. You wanted to reach out to Sam, call his name and hear his voice again but there was something within you that made you stop. The two men looked to be engaged in a serious conversation as they neared the elevator. Taking in a deep breath, you passed by Sam briskly, deliberately brushing against his side and throwing a glance over your shoulder at him as you entered the stairwell, hoping he would follow.

Thirteen minutes in the dark stairwell passed, and you remained alone.

*

Two months had passed without a single word or visit from Sam and to say you were hurt would be an absolute understatement. 

You felt used, cheated and very, very, extremely _stupid_. Tears threatened to stream down your cheeks but you summoned all the willpower within to stop it. You wanted to believe that he simply didn't notice you in the hallway, that he somehow didn't feel you brushing against his side as you moved past him, but the more you tried to convince yourself, the harder it became to believe it. 

The devastation and misery were profound and you hardly slept. Your dreams were filled with memories of Sam - of the conversations, of your body on his and of that one night on the balcony of the top floor. You blamed yourself for growing way too attached when you shouldn't have. It should have been obvious to you that eventually, your relationship with him - if there even was one - would have to come to an end. You just didn't expect it to end like this without any reason. The girls began to talk again and some even laughed at how you were so easily forgotten. Your name no longer came up with his in their usual conversations. 

The impression of his hands and lips were already imprinted in your body and it was impossible to forget about it. Your heart still fluttered, still yearned for him and you cursed yourself for falling so, so, _so_ stupidly in love with him when it was clear to you now that he didn't think of you the same way you thought of him.

You were just another whore.

However, you soon came to realise that you had even more pressing matters to think about.

In the early days of November, you received a phone call. As you listened, the colour faded from your features and you were as white as paper. The receiver dropped from your hands as your mind processed the information you had received: your sister had passed from a disease and your brother was gravely ill. It was as though all the willpower you thought you had had disappeared and you were brought to your knees, cupping your mouth in horror as the tears you desperately held back came streaming down your face like waterfalls. You tried your damnedest not to scream or faint and as your tears ran out, it dawned onto you that you had to leave.

And so you did.

It took much persuasion on your part to the hotel manager to let you go. Besides, you didn't see the point in staying when Sam no longer came. The other members of the family still frequented the hotel, but the ruthless caporegime was nowhere to be found. Eventually, the manager released you and with the help of some of the other girls, you bought a train ticket home.

As you packed your luggage, your eyes caught the sight of something glinting under your piles of clothes. Pulling it out revealed it to be the sequined dress you wore on the evening of the hotel's fifth anniversary celebration. Your heart ached as the memory of that night came rushing back and you tore your eyes away, rolling the dress up without any care and shoving it back into the closet. Steeling yourself, you resumed packing, ignoring the stinging in your eyes and the throbbing in your heart.

There would have never been a relationship between the two of you anyway. After all, it was unwise for a made man, especially a caporegime, to be emotional and vulnerable. He wanted you for sex and conversation, and you gave it to him gladly. 

That's all.

* * *

**1927 - The Last Week of** **November**

The train station was an unfamiliar area to you, having only been there once when you first arrived in Lost Heaven. Despite that, you navigated the station without much difficulty and found the platform you were supposed to go. 

The last few days before your departure had been a difficult one. The girls, especially Michelle, were upset to see you go, having thought of you as their own sister. You didn't want to leave them either but your brother needed you more than anybody else does right now. Their goodbyes were teary and they had engulfed you in tight, warm hugs, wishing you the best of luck and hoping to see you again someday. As you walked away from them, past the grand staircase, the bar with its comfortable stools and out the entrance, you steadied your breathing. All the familiar things you knew about the Corleone Hotel, you would have to let go. 

As you took a step outside, a part of you had hoped you would see Sam - somewhere, _anywhere_ \- but of course, he wasn't to be seen. With one last wave, you climbed the taxi and watched mournfully out the window to the streets as it zipped down the road. 

And now you stood on the platform of the train station, awaiting the train that would take you home. 

Tomorrow when you awoke, you'd no longer be in Lost Heaven. No more velvety blankets around your waist, no more silk robes around your body and no more laughs with the girls. No more cocktails at the bar, no more expensive lingerie from the manager, no more gossips with Michelle, no more soft beds and warm meals, no more anniversary celebrations to attend, no more fancy parties that gave you a reason to doll up and feel pretty, no more bright chandeliers and grandiose paintings on the walls, no more music filling the air of the restaurant, no more chatting up politicians, actors and playwrights. No more Sam.

No more conversations in bed with smoke from his cigarette filling the air, no more late night drinks with him in the hotel room, no more tender touches on your body, no more sweet kisses littering your neck, no more of his strong arms wrapped around your shoulder as your head rests on his chest, no more listening to the gentle sound of his heartbeat, no more of his legs entangled with yours under the covers, no more of his hair tickling your jawline as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, no more of his hand gripping yours, no more of your arms pinned over your head on the bed, no more expensive tailored suits with designer labels, no more cologne with fragrant notes of rose and cedarwood. No more glimmering skyline on a balcony with you donning a sequined dress and his arms around your waist.

The greatness of his impact ran over you like a steamer.

Truly, when you were with him, you felt cared for and _loved_. Oh, to feel that love one more time.

The rumbling of the approaching train pulled you out of your thoughts. As you were about to reach for your luggage on the station floor, your wrist was suddenly grabbed by a hand you recognise. The grooves, the shape and the size of the hand - so, so familiar to you that you looked up sharply, only to find yourself staring straight into steel eyes that belonged to the man who you gave your entire heart to.

"Sam?"

Your voice croaked, your eyes refusing to believe the sight in front of you. The man held your hand in his and for the first time, you saw his usual detached eyes show the hint of - of - desperation. His hair was slightly ruffled, a few strands falling to his forehead. It was hard to believe that he ran from the station to the platform. 

"What are you doing, doll? Where are you going? The girls told me you were leaving."

"Home, Sam. I have to go home. My family - "

You stopped yourself short, averting your eyes. You couldn't bear to look at him when he was staring at you like that, looking so _torn_ and confused. In all the time you've known him, this was the first time you've seen him like that. A wave of emotions churned within you and you didn't know what to do or think. But the biggest and most profound emotion that won out of all of them was frustration. 

"You didn't come to the stairwell that day," you said bitterly. "And you don't visit anymore."

"I've been busy, doll - "

"So busy that you couldn't at least make a phone call?"

He seemed to be looking for something to say - the right thing to say, his eyes searching yours, his grip getting tighter. The train was already here and passengers were boarding and alighting. 

With one last bit of courage, you went on your tip toes and pressed a deep kiss to his lips - a kiss filled with all the fondness, all the adoration, all the _love_ you have for him. All the things you loved about him, all the things that drew you to him and all the things about him that captivated you were all compounded in that one, single kiss. 

When you pulled away, his grip on you slackened and you hurriedly gathered your luggage. You couldn't tell what the expression on your face was, but you knew it wasn't anything short of melancholy. 

"Remember me, Sam. I loved you, more than you would ever know."

With that final sentence, you hopped into the train just as the doors closed. Sam remained on the platform, dazed and stunned. And as the train pulled away right before his eyes, he brought his hands to his face, cursing the world, cursing everybody, but mostly, cursing himself - 

\- for making you think he forgot about you, for being the reason for your heartache, for not being there when you want him to -

\- for being too afraid, too _cowardly,_ too fearful, too nervous, too _scared_ to say "I love you" first.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i was heavily inspired by Taylor Swift's "Wildest Dreams" for this fic. that + the fact that im stupidly in love with Sam Trapani led to a sudden desire to write a reader-insert fic. i also wanted to contribute to his tag so! 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading it and i hope my writing isnt messy or confusing. im still a bit insecure about it. thank you so much for giving my fic the time of day!


End file.
